The Girl Who Never Cried
by sherlollymouse
Summary: THIS WAS WRITTEN FOR A PROMPT FROM jazmariethatsme on tumblr: Sherlock's thoughts at his daughters wedding as he and molly help her get ready and as he walks her down the aisle?
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock's thoughts at his daughters wedding as he and molly help her get ready and as he walks her down the aisle?

—

Johanna Harriet Holmes never really cried. Well, rarely cried. When she was an infant, there was crying. She had the croup once, that was very hard on Sherlock and Molly… but, Jo was never really a crier.

That night, all his dreams had been of his first child. Finding out about her had been memorable not only because it was life changing news, but because it was the only time he remembered ever loosing consciousness. At least, the only time that didn't include drugs.

It had been nice, though, having his friend have a baby about the same time. She and Sheryl Watson became friends very fast, started school together, and even ended up going to their first crime scene together, much to the disappointment of their mothers.

"I just don't want her desensitized to murder and violence. Besides, its incredibly unsafe, not to mention irresponsible…." Molly had begun the lecture the moment he walked in the door.

"Murda, murda!" His daughter had exclaimed, cheerfully, as he passed her to Molly.

"Damn it, Sherlock!"

—

His eyes fluttered open at the sound of the pounding on his bedroom door; it was the big day.

Much like himself on his wedding day, he knew she would not reveal how excited or nervous she was. He had been stone faced, too. Although, when he and Molly got married, everyone knew it was an act because they'd seen him take control over the wedding planning so heavily, there was no way they could be convinced of him being indifferent.

Sherlock slid out of bed, giving his wife a gentle push and kiss on the shoulder.

"Jo's up." He whispered. As a parent, he'd said very similar things on a frequent basis when his children were younger. Molly stretched and yawned and glanced at the clock.

"She must be excited." She chuckled and Sherlock hummed in response as he gathered himself to shower before the women needed in the bathroom.

—

When she was about 7 or 8, Sherlock remembered picking her up from school. It was just the two of them in the cab and she was being exceptionally quiet.

"Something on your mind?" He'd asked, cautiously.

"A boy at school… he called me a freak…said I was a weirdo like you." Slowly, he released a heavy exhale before continuing.

"And what did you say?"

"I told him he was stupid. Solving murders helps people." Her raven black curls bounced a bit as they hit a bump in the road, she had been looking out the window the whole time… thinking, he assumed. "Then, he said that it would be more help to stop the murders in the first place."

"What did you say to that?" He found himself leaning forward, a bit impressed with his daughter.

"I said you can't do that. Sometimes, bad things just happen, all you can do is make it better and thats what we do for the families of the dead people." Finally, she turned to him, wiping the beautiful curls he gave her around.

"Well, what a clever girl you are." Leaning over to her, he planted a kiss on her forehead.

—

The squeak of the shower brought him out of his mind palace for long enough to remember what he was doing. He needed to stay focused and get put together quickly, they'd offered their home up to their side of the wedding party.

Smiling to himself as he began shaving, he thought of how easy it had been to raise his daughter. Well… not exactly easy, but far from as hard as it could have been.

—

"This kid name George kissed me today." She uncharacteristically blurted out. He wasn't naive, this was a long time coming. It was about that time, too. She had just turned thirteen. For a moment, he studied her face. She was a bit scared. Maybe a little too much like him.

"Well, do you want to talk about it?" He carefully asked, realizing how much of her life they'd spent in cabs. For a long time, she stared forward, considering, but then, crinkled her nose and shook her head.

"It really wasn't anything worth mentioning… I just…"

"What?"

"Never mind…."

As a curtesy to his wife and out of respect for his children as they got older, he refrained from ever consciously deducing them. So, he allowed her to leave it. Even though he knew full well she had something on her mind.

—

He cursed under his breath when he started hearing people greet each other jovially in the sitting room. It felt way too early for so much excitement so soon after waking up. Not to mention, he was shaving and it'd startled him a bit; he'd nearly nicked himself and he rarely did that.

Finishing as quickly as he possibly could, he wrapped himself up in his dressing gown and immediately locked himself in his and Molly's bedroom.

He desperately wanted to remember this day, all of it. Gracefully, he ran his fingers along the suit jacket his daughter had picked out for him before putting it on. For about a minute, he had grumbled about the coloring… he'd never worn a power blue suit, but, he took one look at his daughter and relented to her will. It was after all, a long time coming.

Pulling on his trousers, he looked over at a ten year old picture of her and fondly remember the year it got hard.

The year the girl that never cried… had cried so much… and he ached a bit, thankful it had all worked out.

—

The Watson's and the Holmes' had a regular family dinner that would end in the adults playing a card game, the youngest children playing in the living room and the eldest two socializing in Sheryl's bedroom. Like most of these Thursday nights, he or Molly would walk up and retrieve their fifteen year old daughter so they could all leave together.

That night, it was his turn.

Not thinking much of it, they were the first time he'd really dealt with teenage girls, he tripped the lock barely rapping at the door as he walked in.

Without panicking, though that took a lot of him, he walked in, slammed the door and turned to face it.

"She— she stole some alcohol and then she kissed me… this was her idea." Sheryl had argued. Swallowing hard, he used his foot to kick one of their shirts into the center of the room, behind him.

"Why would you say such hurtful things, you got the vodka from Dan!"

"Girls" He said sternly, "please, just… put your trousers and shirts back on. We're leaving." He didn't allow himself to think too much about what he had walked in on, He was a father after all. This was incredibly uncomfortable for all involved. When he knew they were dressed, he finally turned around.

"Please,… uncle Sherlock… don't tell my dad." Sheryls blue eyes were welling up with tears, which Johanna had scoffed at.

"What the hell is wrong with you." Her face twisted a bit, reading her body language, he reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Theres no reason for this…" he wasn't sure what to call it. "argument to get physical." Bad choice of words.

"Argument? This isn't an argument, dad." That was the first time he saw her really cry. She'd ran downstairs and sat in the car he'd finally broken down and bought.

Later that night, he'd gone up to talk to her.

"I just wanted to make sure you were ok." He explained, sitting down in her desk chair as she lay across her bed in one of his old shirts and a pair of pajama bottoms.

"Does this mean I'm gay, dad?" Jo's eyes fluttered up to his.

"I can't answer that." Shaking his head, he gave her a shrug.

"Why not?"

"Because… because it's not like that." She looked a bit deflated, so, since she was obviously embarrassed and hurting, he offered up a personal confession. "I'm not heterosexual."

"Really?"

"No, I'm not."

"So… are you bisexual?"

"I don't put myself in a box like that, Jo."

"What do you mean?"

"Some people, they need to define things about them. It helps them find other people who also define themselves like that and it's comforting to them. It's perfectly fine for people like that, but… for me… it feels limiting… constricting… to define myself. I'm with your mother and I'm very happy. But, if your mother was a man, I wouldn't have been less open to pursuing her and I wouldn't be any less happy."

"So, the box…. theres other people in it, but…"

"But, within the box, theres good and bad. Like I said, some people find it psychologically soothing to have a word to use to define themselves, but I just don't think they have to be important." Seeing she understood, he smiled, gave her a kiss goodnight and told her not to bother worrying about it any more that night.

—

PART TWO

He still didn't define himself… put himself in that box. It just felt disingenuous to him. It made no difference to him at him. Maybe because he had spent so much time believing that love and sex and a relationship had to be so distracting to his work….

His work… it had actually gotten more enjoyable and better with Johanna.

—

That same year, he and John got the go ahead from their wives to take the girls to a crime scene. They'd been begging for permission to go and their mothers had finally given it to them. After all, they had been sneaking the girls, the two most curious of the 5 kid Holmes-Watson clan, in whenever they got the chance.

Since they were in the city, they took a cab rather then his car and he wondered the whole time if John had noticed the tension between their daughters.

To his relief, it wasn't too gory… when the girls would tell their mothers about this later, there wouldn't be any thing in it that would make them question their decision to let them continue to help their fathers.

"Well, girls," Sherlock tried to disguise his fatherly pride. "tell me what you see." Eagerly, the teenagers each chose a side of the corpse, snapped on gloves and began ticking.

"This is a bit sick, you know." Greg Lestrade mused in the background. "A father-daughter field trip to a murder scene…."

"Well, it is take your daughter to work day." John smiled.

"Dad, where has it been raining? His coats damp, but it's had time to dry and it hasn't rained here." The eager Holmes girl inquired.

"I'll check." Gleefully, he pulled out his phone.

"He's married, but he's not wearing his ring. See the pale line of skin from the band…."

"Recently divorced?"

"Maybe the killer stole it." Sheryl offered and looked up at Sherlock, hopeful.

"Why would they steal the ring and leave his Rolex?" Jo scoffed.

"Maybe it was personal somehow…." Red in the face, Sheryl was intent on defending herself.

"Murder usually is. Do you think they just liked the wedding band? Really…."

"No, like they didn't want us to know he was married…." Gradually, their voices were rising.

"Why would that matter?"

"I don't know I'm not the killer!"

"Girls," Sherlock interjected in a warning tone. "focus or leave."

"Fine." Sheryl huffed.

"Oh, Jo. Looks like Cardiff." He informed his daughter.

"Right… ok. So, he's local… but just got back from business."

"Where did you get that?" Sheryl asked, confused.

"Business card." She smiled in response and twirled it around in her hand. "Oh, and his ID." With her other hand, she popped open the wallet.

"You're not clever, you're just boastful." Watsons daughters nose wrinkled as she squinted at her.

"Is there a difference?" John laughed and nudged his friend, who rolled his eyes. He really thought his friend enjoyed far much when their children mirrored them. With a sigh, he joined them on the floor.

"Alright, ladies. So, the ring… he took it off himself. Definitely recently divorced." He went on explaining how he could tell, something to do with the fraying of the trouser seams and the type of shoes he was wearing with his suit. The girls seemed to soak it up like a sponge. "Why don't you collect a sample of the dirt on his shoe," he pointed to Johanna, "and Sheryl, you can get me samples from underneath his finger nails."

He stood back, giving the girls room. They were eager to help and excitedly found their tools.

"You know," John leaned over and whispered. "that was a bit odd."

"What was?" He asked, staring down at his phone.

"All these years, they've never fought… at all."

"Well," he cleared his throat, not wanting to break a promise. "Things do change."

"Yeah, you're right, I suppose. I mean, you know, they're teenagers… boys and all that…"

"Yeah, yeah. Sort of, I suppose."

—

"Dad?" Her voice was soft on the other side of the door.

"I'm ready, Jo. You can come in." He answered, opening it to her and accepting her offer of a hug.

"How are you this morning?" Johanna asked him, pulling away and looking him up and down. "I see you saw reason."

"You see I love you." He corrected, scowling a bit as his reflection in the mirror.

"That, too." She wrapped her arm in his and brought herself up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"Do you remember the one school dance you went to?" Sherlock asked her, brushing her hair behind her ears. It was still wild, she'd barely had a chance to brush it. Jo was still in an oversized tshirt and a pair of cheap boxers.

"God, I wish I could forget!" She laughed and he couldn't stop staring. His daughter looked exactly like her mother, with his hair and eyes. She was stunning and he was shocked that she had found anyone good enough for her.

—

When her headmistress called him and John while they were on a case, he panicked. Hearing your daughter had gotten in a fight with an older, male, jock was scary, he would never remember anything that happened between the call and running into the hospital room where their daughters where sitting. Jo on the bed, Sheryl on the chair.

"Thank god, you're alright." Reflexively, he pulled her into his arms.

"Ow." She cried.

"What's wrong? Where are you hurt?!" Sherlock pulled back quickly, looking her over. "Lift up your shirt, do you have internal bleeding?"

"Dad, I'm fine… its just the broken nose and fat lip."

"Ah, Sheryl." John was fussing over his own daughter. "Is that black eye all you have?" Sheryl only nodded, not looking up at anyone. Her blond hair showed signs of the time she'd put into it earlier that night, but now had a twig and some dirt in it. Lovingly, John removed the foliage.

It was quiet for awhile and the men just sat, comforting their daughters, silently. But, shouting in the hall ended the peace.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, you can't go in there!" A nurse insisted, but swearing and asserting she could, a plumb, angry woman forced her way into the room.

"You!" She pointed to Sherlock aggressively, who took a defensive stance, next to John, keeping their daughters behind them. "You public menace, I should have known that it was your daughter. No better than being raised by wolves…"

"Excuse me, but I'd very much appreciate you leaving now." His voice boomed, filling the room as the jock he knew very well was the woman's son and the one that had fought with his daughter walked in. It was Dan, who had given them vodka months earlier. His jaw was broken and an eye heavily swollen. "I'll be pressing assault charges on you." The woman turned her fire on Jo, who merely scoffed.

"I'd like to see you try." She gestured to her face. "Your son hit me first, I have witnesses and CCTV footage and a very important uncle." Sherlock smiled at this.

"Besides," He added, "I didn't raise a violent, air headed bigot, now did I?"

"How dare you! Its your daughter, the filthy rug muncher, stealing women away from good boy like mine…."

"Excuse me, but I don't take kindly to people insulting, degrading or threatening my family and you have every reason to not want me angry at you. The last person that did that, ended up killing himself. So, if I were you, I'd take your son and leave." His voice was a smooth, threatening growl and he could sense the shiver it sent up her spine,as she took her sons hand and they rushed out of the room.

As he slowly turned around, to his shock, he found Sheryl to have fully collapsed into tears, red faced.

"Uncle Sherlock, how could you?" She breathed.

"Wh-what?" He was genuinely confused for a moment, until he turned to look at John for advice. Finally, he realized, he had broken his promise to her, in her eyes. Even though it was the mother who had thrown out the slur, Sherlock hadn't repudiated it. In Sheryls eyes, given the full context of the conversation, this was him saying she was gay. "Oh, Sheryl, I didn't mean to—"

"It's ok… really." John rubbed her back. "Did you think I would mind?" He even offered a chuckle.

"No," She bounced onto her feet. "I never thought you'd be upset,I just… thought that… I don't even know if I'm gay because I don't know what this is."

"Boxes." Jo smiled at her father, having picked up a ice pack while he and the woman where arguing, she held it to her lip.

"What?" Sheryl asked.

"Boxes… defining yourself a certain way doesn't work for everybody… you don't have to use a word if you don't want to or aren't ready to." For the first time, he remembered thinking she sounded like a grown woman and had actually absorbed something he'd told her. It gave him a very warm, tingly feeling.

"Jo… I don't want this."

"Why—" For a moment Johanna glanced up at their fathers, before hushing her voice, it became a bit small. "Why do you treat it like it's something dirty and shameful? Thats not what this is at all."

"I'm done talking, Jo." Sheryl grabbed her jacket and left nothing but the crushing sound of crinoline in her wake.

And again, the girl that never cried, cried.

—

"I was just thinking that I'd wished I'd seen you beat the daylights out of that kid." Jo laughed at this, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"Dad!" She shook her head. "Come out to the sitting room, we're going to start my make up and hair."

Sighing, he followed…

—


	2. Chapter 2

There were boys. Several boys in fact, after the dance. Waltzing in and out of her life and their kitchen at her leisure.

A new one a week, until she met Alec.

He didn't like Alec.

But, Molly had asked him to keep his distance and his mouth shut until and unless it was necessary.

So, he held his tongue and forced himself to be patient until,finally, it became necessary.

She came home after curfew with a look in her eyes in he had become familiar with; having seen it in his own… through blurry, blood shot vision.

"Jo…" Sherlock was certain his daughter could hear his heart breaking as he spoke. "we need to talk."

"Talk about what?" She spat from the doorway.

"You know what." he approached her, sighing.

"You're wrong." A bit unstable in her steps, she still managed to turn her back and make it to the stairs.

"No, I'm not and you know it."

"Leave me alone." She demanded, pounding up the stairs, more of a result of her altered state then her anger.

He'd stayed up that whole night, sitting on the steps outside her door,allowing her to sleep off the high. When she finally emerged, sober and well rested, she didn't seem too surprised to find him in the hallway.

"No more Alec." He spoke. It was matter-of-fact, not demanding, not demeaning, not angry, just plain and clear that this was not a request or a punishment. He took great care to make sure it expressed no emotion; no anger, no judgement, except maybe love.

And she had cried, again.

—

"Mom, I don't want that in my hair." Jo argued. Her tone was fairly polite, considering her words.

"Please, I wore it to my wedding and since you're not wearing my dress—"

"Fine." She chuckled and took the tiara from Molly, who beamed.

"These shoes are going to kill my feet." Henrietta Holmes groaned.

"Its for your sister." Their mother hissed at her other daughter.

"Jo, why'd you make us wear blue, its not our color." Hamish, the only boy and middle child inquired, trying desperately not to sound like he was whining.

"Now, stop it." Molly glared at the young man.

"Oh, the brazier I had to buy for this dress!" Henrietta continued, jokingly.

"Ugh, and these bow ties, who wears bow ties?" Their brother laughed.

"Children." Sherlock warned, glancing around at his family, trying not to smile too big.

Jo was 24, Hamish, 22, and Henrietta was barely 15. Much like her oldest sister, she was a shock and always a surprise.

—

"Daddy," the little 8 year old crawled up on his lap.

Though, he'd been trying to think, he released any frustration he felt in a single sigh and opened his eyes.

"Yes, Hen."

"Is Jojo ok?" She whispered.

"She'll be alright." Gingerly, he kissed her forehead.

"She's just going through a rough patch."

"Maybe she needs a case." Her voice was small and delicate.

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, sometimes you get upset when you don't have a case. Mommy has to take us out so you can be upset." He was shocked at how observant she was. He and Molly had done a lot of work hiding when he had a bad day. Sherlock would lock himself in their room, leave or go bother John until Molly had taken the kids out or he had calmed down.

"Thats a really good idea." He smiled down at her and gave Henrietta another kiss. Almost as if on cue, his cell phone chimed with a message from Lestrade. He didn't bring John with him on that case.

—

Much like him, Jo didn't have many friends, but she was very close to a giggly red head named Marge.

"I'm so excited for you, Jo." She chimed and the woman in question responded with a laugh.

"Why? I don't much like going to church." Sherlock passed his wife a knowing look, as she tried to work with their daughters curls, and Molly returned it with a small smile.

"You are just as excited as the rest of us." Marge argued.

"Yeah, she is." The youngest Holmes gave Jo a nudge and the elder tried to disguise her smile.

—

"Dad," Jo whined. "why are you dragging me with you to work?"

"Its— bring your daughter to work day." He offered.

"That's what John said a few months ago when we all—" She cut herself off and sighed. "I'm just not—"

"Well, it doesn't matter. We're here now, and I need your help."

"Why my help?" She seemed to pled.

"Because I said I do." He spoke gently and reached over to rub her shoulder as the cab came to a stop. Jo gave a small smile in return and followed her father out after he paid the fare.

"Jo" Greg greeted her excitedly and warmly.

"Hello, detective." She smiled… Sherlock tried not to pay much mind to the fact that that was a smile he often used while working; a fake one.

"Gosh! You look more like your parents everyday!" Lestrade had noticed it, too, without really observing it.

"Shall we?" Sherlock requested, gesturing toward the building that appeared to hold the crime scene.

"Uh,… yeah, yeah. Of course." Nervously, the D.I. glanced at Joanna before turning to lead them into the house. "He's—uh— about Jo's age." He leaned in to whisper to Sherlock, who nodded and looked back at his daughter. Before he could speak, she answered.

"I'm not deaf, and I can handle it. Whatever it is."

"As long as you're sure." Sherlock stopped them before they entered and read her expression.

"Of course I am." This smile wasn't fake, she'd gotten it from her mother, it was an acknowledgement of the care he was extending to her. He returned it and guided her into the crime scene.

"Anyway, teenager, brutally beaten and stabbed, can't find an I.D. on him…"

"Dan." She interrupted Greg. "Thats Dan Allister. He goes to my school."Jo turned to her father. "You should call uncle John and have him make sure.. make sure that Sheryl's ok. We'll need to talk to her… He should tell her if she doesn't know." Oddly professionally for a teenager, she turned, snapped on a pair of gloves and began examining the body of her classmate.


	3. Chapter 3

"This is asinine!" Her young, feminine voice shook in a manner that was rivaled only by her fathers, and he was just as shocked as the D.I. to hear it echoing against the walls of their home.

"Now, Johanna, calm down. I just want you to come down to the station because I need to ask you a few questions." Greg attempted to calm her.

"About what? How I didn't kill Dan?" She shook her head, her unruly curls fighting out of her messy bun.

"Please, Johanna, for me—" Sherlock spoke, but she interrupted.

"No!"

"Well, can I ask you some here… use a dictaphone?" Lestrade thumbed at the device in his hand.

"No, I absolutely will not allow you to record me!" When he went to put it back in his pocket, she angrily pointed to the table. "Don't try that with me, Inspector, put it on the table."

"Bloody hell." He threw a glance over at her father who was trying to fight a small smile, he didn't think she'd notice Lestrade pressing the record button. "Look, can you just answer me this; is it true that you and Dan Allister… got into a fight… uh-about Sheryl?" She took a loud, long inhale through her nose.

"There was a confrontation that involved Sheryl at a school dance, yes."

"W-well, —umm— was it over —he—ah-hu "

"Are you trying to ask a question, Inspector, or are you attempting to entertain us with your appalling beat boxing skills?" Sherlock couldn't hold back this laugh, though he did try to stifle it and, once again, the D.I. swore.

"Look, I just want to know if—if-ah you happen to have — feelings for Sheryl Watson."

"He means sexual." She looked up at her father first, before returning her focus back to Greg. "You mean sexual feelings."

"Christ," He sighed and turned to Sherlock, "Help me out here?"

"I think you're doing a fine job of mucking this up on your own, Inspector." She gave another sigh. "We—uh danced — at the dance. We went outside, away from everyone, where we could still hear the music, we danced and we —. Dan Allister caught us — and decided that I was an insult to his fragile, newly budding manhood and tried to attack me. This is nothing you couldn't get from confiscating CCTV footage, I don't know why you feel the need to harass me."

"Jo." Sherlock spoke in his fatherly, warning tone.

"Dad, I told you. I told you both that the attacker was between 6 feet and 6' 3". Now, let me ask you a question; how many men… how many PEOPLE, do I know over 5'8"?" There was a silence as this was finally uttered aloud and Lestrade cautiously looked up at Sherlock.

"I'm sorry, I'm—" He began, but Sherlock raised his hand, stopping him.

"Just doing your job. Its fine." Sherlock waved it off as the door came flying open and John and Sheryl Watson walked in. The younger was frantic, angry and emotional.

For a brief moment, the girls shared intense glares; Jo's was vacant of emotion and Sheryls eyes where brimming with every emotion she was feeling. Finally, Jo spoke.

"I had nothing to do with it, Sheryl." Her voice was even and softer than it had been.

"Bullocks!"

"You seriously think I had something to do with this?"

"I don't— no, no, I don't."

"Good." Jo pushed past her into the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove.

"So, you have nothing to say? Nothing to get off your chest? Nothing eating at you?" Sheryl followed, slamming the door behind her.

"No."

Sherlock wasn't sure of the rest of the conversation, but in the end, his favorite mug was broken, both girls were bleeding, but Jo managed to hold her tears until the Watsons left.

—

"Henny, what exactly are you doing to my eyelids?" Jo queried to her younger sister.

"It's liquid eye liner, I told you." Henny's pink tongue peeked out between her red painted lips, much like her mothers.

"What's in it?"

"Don't know."

"Why would you put an unknown substance that close to my eye?"

"I wear it, too."

"And you're using the same applicator?"

"Yeah, why?"

"For god sakes, Henny." Jo sighed.

"It's fine." She insisted to her sister.

Sherlock spent a lot of time just observing his children and it never failed to surprise him, the new things he would learn about them and —well, eye make up. He kept his focus on his paper as he brought his tea up to his lips to hide his smile.

—

The girls didn't talk for years after that. Avoiding each others company at the weekly dinners, going to separate universities, dating, however, Jo always chose to be far more desecrate. Her father frequently observed the signs that she was seeing someone, whether he meant to or not, and knew she had a serious relationship until one day, at dinner she casually announced;

"Sheryl and I are getting a flat together."


	4. Chapter 4

Johanna had been insistent upon not getting married in a church and, since the wedding was small and she was following in her fathers footsteps as a consultant detective, Greg had helped make sure she could have her ceremony in a secluded part of the NYSE building. After all, he'd known her since she was a baby and he considered her family.

A bit of an odd motiff for a wedding, but the yellow dress she insisted on wearing lit up the room so much that no one really paid any mind to the lack of lack of natural light.

Sherlock watched his daughter stare at the door they would though in a moment.

"Nervous?" He asked, taking her pulse and knowing very well the answer.

"Of course not." She lied.

—

The day Sherlock helped Jo moved into her new flat, John was there. For a moment, he could tell his friend was a bit surprised…. Sheryl hadn't told him who her flatmate would be, obviously.

"They made up then?" He whispered to Sherlock as they carried boxes up the stairs.

"It would appear so." Sherlock whispered as they walked into the flat and immediately discovered it had only one room.

"Well, more than made up, it would appear." John cleared his throat and placed his box on the solitary double bed.

"Yes."

As Sheryl rounded the corner and her met her fathers eyes, she curled her shoulders up a bit and placed the box she was carrying next to the ones the men had just brought up.

"We —uh— like were its located." She smiled at her father and 'uncle'. "Very central."

"Sheryl, do you want these in here or the sitting room?" Johanna asked from the doorway, trying to balance an electronic Sherlock couldn't get a good look at on her knee.

"Just the—umm— put it on the kitchen table." When she disappeared, Sheryl turned back around.

"Are—uh— are you happy?" John asked, slowly and his daughter smiled at both of them.

"Yeah, yeah, I really am." She nodded, with that, Sherlock guided John out of the room to fetch the rest of the girls belongings.

In the stairwell, he began chuckling.

"Whats funny?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, its just… for the longest time… people thought.. you and I… turns out… its our daughters are the gay crime solving team." Sherlock shared in his friend laugh. "Is a bit awkward, though… are daughters are ah—"

"We really don't need to discuss that, John."

"I know, I know… its just…Wow. The stories people will write about them will be far more popular."

"Ugh, stop it, John."

"Well, people will talk."

"People do little else."

—

When the door opened, her breath hitched and she stared down the aisle.

It had been set up so the couple would enter through doors opposite of each other and meet in the middle before their friends in family.

"I can't do this." She began hyperventilating.

"Jo, Jo." Sherlock attempt to soothe her.

"I can't, daddy, I just—" She gasped for air.

"Look at me, look at me." Controlling her breathing, she met his met his eyes. "Sheryl loves you and you love her." Jo nodded. "What's there to be afraid of… he gestured to his friend, standing with his daughter in the other door way. "Look at her. What do you see when you look at her?" Instinctively, Jo turned into her fathers forearm and he could feel them dampen with her tears. "You don't have to tell me. You need to go out there and tell her. You wanted this." He reminded her as she pulled away.

While he pulled a hanky out of his pocket, she dabbed at her eyes and adjusted her stance.

"You're right, dad." She smiled up at him. "I wanted this… but, for the record, and I was waiting to tell you this, she asked me if she could be a Holmes." He returned her smile and they began their journey down the aisle.

"Do you need a new one?" Molly asked him as he took her seat beside her.

"Of course not." His voice cracked a bit and he knew she could see the red developing around his eyes.


End file.
